


Absence and Agreement

by arcadian_dream



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-21
Updated: 2010-03-21
Packaged: 2017-10-08 04:30:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadian_dream/pseuds/arcadian_dream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts not with a kiss, but with a fist to the side of Percy's face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absence and Agreement

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Week Five of HP Smutday.

It starts not with a kiss, but with a fist to the side of Percy's face.

George's hand, balled and white-knuckled, connects sharply with the sallow, tear-stained skin of his brother's cheek. Percy cries out, but does not back away.

He stumbles, but does not fall. He does not raise his arms in defence. And, as he does not do these things, George continues to hit him: the smack of skin-on-skin, the deep, shuddering gasps of George's sobs, the sharp intake of breath as Percy winces – again and again and again.

As George's fists falter; as his fingers unfurl and stretch and he grasps – claws, even – at Percy, Percy continues to do nothing.

After some moments, George collapses against him; and they both collapse against the nearest wall. George is still grasping at his brother, and Percy is still allowing him to do so.

"George," he says quietly. "George." He places a hand at the base of George's skull, cupping his head in the palm of his hand.

"No," George slurs through his stilted breaths. He takes Percy roughly by the shoulders and, angrily, slams him hard against the wall.

"George," Percy gasps. Now, George shakes him; Percy reaches out. George is shaking his head from side-to-side.

"Stop, George," Percy whispers, "Please, stop." Placing his hands firmly on either side of George's face, he tries to hold him still. At first, George resists but soon, soon, he is spent; the fight that was in him dissipates and with a great shuddering exhalation, he falls against Percy's chest; he clings to him.

"I hate it," he mumbles into Percy's shirt. "I hate it."

"I know you do," Percy replies. He clasps a hand to his brother's neck once more and runs it up over his head, through the mass of dishevelled red hair. He repeats the motion: as he does, he can feel George relax against him; into him. His breathing steadies and, wiping his nose with his sleeve, George looks up at Percy. His eyes search Percy's face: it is at once achingly familiar and different. And as Percy continues to stroke his hair, he thinks that maybe – just maybe – if he closes his eyes it could be like before.

He can make up for the lack.

George leans in and, with tightly closed eyes, he brushes his lips to Percy's. He waits for the protest; for Percy's hands to push him away; for the shocked exclamation and the rush to the door.

But it does not come.

Instead, Percy kisses him back; hard. He crushes his lips to George's as though trying to devour him; to take all of his brother inside himself and hold it there: hide it, protect it, still the dull ache that resides within since Fred's passing.

Soon, George's hands are roving over Percy's slender body: soft flesh and hard bone; freckled skin and tufts of soft, ginger hair tickling the palms of his hands. As they kiss, George ruts against Percy. His movements are sporadic and bestial: there is no rhythm to them and the two men grind awkwardly against each other.

As they do, Percy slips his hands beneath George's shirt. He looses George's trousers and they fall from his waist, bunching at George's knees. Percy runs his hand along the length of George's exposed prick, closing his long fingers around the shaft. He begins to stroke George: his rhythm is steady and sure and George, easing into the consistency of Percy's touch, gains control of his thrusts.

For a time, he maintains the pace, moving slowly against Percy's hand, into the tender warmth of his closed fist but soon the hollowness inside George stirs. His insides sear with the pain of it and all he wants to do is make it stop. He thrusts fiercely, causing Percy to lose his grip. George, nearing climax, frots desperately against Percy's stomach and thighs and comes with a loud groan that tears through the air.

It sounds, Percy thinks, like something being ripped out of him; like some invisible hand, its fingers long and cruel and cold reaching inside of the deepest parts of who George is and taking something that he will never know is missing, but whose absence he will always feel.

The sound of it reverberates around the brothers. George's breathing slows and he sinks to his knees. Exhausted, he falls against Percy. With trembling arms he clutches at him, holds him close. He buries his face in the folds of Percy's trousers: of his own come as it catches on the fabric; of tears and sweat and sorrow.

"I hate it," he says again. "I hate that you're here and he's not."

Percy swallows, trying to stifle the tears that are welling in his eyes; the grief that aches within. He runs his hand consolingly through George's hair once more.

"I know you do," he says. "I do too."


End file.
